


Twisted Underground

by On_Prozac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Delusions, Drug Use, M/M, Methamphetamine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/On_Prozac/pseuds/On_Prozac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>------<br/>Nothing hurts now. He is on Meth again. He feels good. <br/>“Don’t leave me” Theon says. The echo of his voice bouncing around in his room.<br/>“...I won’t.”<br/>------<br/>Modern AU which Ramsay Kidnaped Theon and gave him drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted Underground

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this cuz I'm disgusting.

**He needs Methamphetamine.**

.

.

_How long has he been sleeping?_ He sees faint green lights passes through the doorframe. Yes. He can sense things. Time trickles more slowly here, in the shadow of this room, every second is just an echo of eternity. Which is good. It enables him to sense things---

\---Like, he can hears the plants growing, outside, where the sun is shining and those roots reaches deep underground. Is he living underground? He couldn’t tell. The water in the air is so fully saturated. He can smell it. Every particle in this room is recognizable to him. He is a _seer_ , some sort of. Since he’s became too familiar to his surroundings. Or maybe it’s just because of his imagination.

He’s been lying here for weeks, bounded to the bedpost by ropes. It digs deep into his wrist. But he doesn’t mind that now, nothing is important---

_I need Methamphetamine. I need Methamphetamine. I need Methamphetamine._

He must have got infection on his wounds. Countless cuts and scars, all over his wasted body, vulnerable to bacteria and disease. It hurts whenever he tries to move. He thinks he is having a fever, he can feel heat steam rising and falling inside his veins, crushing on his bones like sea water rushing toward the shore.

Weeks had passed since Ramsay has brought him here. The basement, or a warehouse, or a crevice in the gloom of the city. He tries to recall what leads to him to his _destination._ There is a void on his memory and he can’t even think clearly now, a side effect of drug addiction.

_I’m floating. High. I need Methamphetamine. High._

He tries to focus on the only light source in this room, that green light that penetrates through the door. He can hear the buzzing sound of vibrations that sends shiver through his spine. In the dark it’s easier to get sensitive to sounds. And besides, there is hardly anything to do except constant fearing and the tormenting longing for drugs, more. More. Always more.

.

.

Heavy footsteps. The door cracks open. And there was-

Bolton. Bolton. Bolton. Bolton. Bolton. Bolton. **_BOLTON._**

He doesn’t recognize this man. Even though he knows -subconsciously- how does the man looks like. He knows him too well, but just can’t recognize him. This happens often these days. All the memories of his past are fading. Names like ‘ _Robb ’,’Jon’, or ’Asha’_ are losing their meaning. The subjects became nothing but shadowy figures that moves around in his mind. However, he does know who _Ramsay Bolton_ is. There is an image inside his head of the man. He tries to match that image to the man in front of-now **on** him.

 

_“What’s your name, my dear?”_

 

That’s when he unconsciously starts to tremble.

_Careful. Careful. Careful now._

“Theon. Theon…Greyjoy.”

Slap. _Slap. Slap._ ”Wrong. Such a silly boy, can’t even remember your name. How pathetic. ” The man lowered himself, caresses the place that he hit. “What’s your name?”

His tastes blood in his mouth. _Ramsay Bolton._ Terrifying realization strikes Theon. The man is Ramsay Bolton. Not Snow. Bolton. And he, he, he, his name is---

_“Reek….my name is Reek.”_

Bolton’s lip parts and curves up. Theon can see his sharp teeth reflecting the light. It reminds him of a shark. “It’s nice to see you finally learning, boy. But still not good enough. ” _A shark. Diving deep. I’m diving too. I’ve gone too far._

“…Please, Ramsay…”

“Choose a finger.”

_No. No. No._

Panic rises in his chest. But this time not for long. What people says about human’s mental protection is true. When facing danger, human beings subconsciously begin to seek ways to justify it. Schizobulia. Stockholm syndrome. Depersonalization. These are not abnormity. Not disability. Just twisted.

…And he feels flying in the air, watching himself from above, even as Ramsay stabs his knife into his palm.

_Lord has mercy._

Bolton gets up and murmurs something, then he opens the drawers on the other side of the room. Everything is part of a routine. Theon knows that. The man came back and injects a needle into his upper arm.

It doesn’t hurt. It’s great. He knows this would always happen. Ramsay would always give him what he wants so badly in the end.

**_He is a seer._ **

.

.

He shouldn’t trust anybody. He shouldn’t go to that pub. He shouldn’t take anything from the man with a pair of pale eye. That was couple of months ago when he still remembers everything.

_“I’ve got real good crystals. Would you like some?”_

He shouldn’t say yes. But it was too late.

.

.

I’M FUCKING FLYING.

Theon thought he was back to the Stark’s house again. In his own room there are huge posters that weren’t on the walls before. Film posters. Theon knows the movie. In the black background there is a woman locked in a cage. Mushrooms grow from her rotting body. The title was written in some language that he can’t even distinguish. Korean. Probably.

_How long has he been sleeping?_ When he wakes up he sees the red-haired boy sitting on his bed. His soft hand touches his lips and he pressed down for a kiss on his forehead.

There is a moth in the air and it got a pair of pale blue wings that is too big for its body.

Suddenly the boy is on him. His hands held him down. He kisses him again and again, this time lip to lip. His fingers linger on Theon’s inner thigh. He enters him. When he looks up he sees the deep blue eyes that are like the Antarctic Ocean.

_ I’M FUCKING FLYING. _

Nothing hurts now. He is on Meth again. He feels good. 

“Don’t leave me” Theon says. The echo of his voice bouncing around in his room.

…“I won’t.”

.

.

“Say my name.”

“Ramsay…Ramsay Bolton.”

He reaches climax.

.

.

He wakes up in Bolton’s arm.

Realization slips into his mind-

…There is no way out. No. No. No. Theon knows that eventually he will die here. In this world built of darkness and delusions, nothing could survive. But after all, surviving is not the goal here. Underground, things can get really complicated, like the root of trees; they twine and twist, avoiding every rocks and reaching deep into the soil. Growing. Maturing. Dying. This is the cycle of life, or perhaps it’s just because of the side effects of the drugs.

He starts to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still learning the language. So don't be harsh to me pls.


End file.
